Blue Skin (Book 2): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  I thought my life was complicated before. Boyfriend troubles. Tony troubles. A total lack of money to spend on clothes. But I’d gladly go back to those days in a heartbeat. To my nice, warm bed. To Sean.

  To Mum.

  My chest aches when I think about her death. I’ve got really good at blocking out the memory of her bleeding chest. But then the hopelessness of this new life starts to get to me—the horrible flat, the crappy job, hiding away from the world—and all those unwanted memories come pouring in.

  I wonder what Sean is doing right now? I can’t risk having a phone, and I haven’t been online since I left. Is he still living at his house? Even after everything that happened there? Maybe he’s sold the place, moved on.

  Found another girlfriend.

  My chin quivers, but I shove the anguish away and focus on finding Ben.

  So cold. My body stiffens as the rain gets heavier, so I pull the back of my jacket over my head. It shields me a little, but now there’s water running down the back of my jeans instead.

  It’s just rain. It’s not exactly the shittiest thing to happen to you. Just keep your—

  A loud shriek of distress travels through the lane, bouncing off the walls.

  “Ben!”

  I hear it again. It’s in front of me, but I can’t see anyone. I follow its echoes all the way down to the end, where I’m met with five men holding baseball bats, metal pipes and crowbars. My body hardens with alarm. Every sense heightened. They’re crowded around something, staring down at the ground.

  My foot accidentally catches an empty tin, and the men simultaneously lock their attention to me instead.

  And then I see my brother. He’s lying on his side in a puddle, his eyes half-open, blood running down his face, the bone in his ankle protruding, almost breaking the skin. “Get up, Ben!” I scream in repulsion.

  “He’s one of yours, is he?” the tall, fat one says; his chubby hands brandishing a blood-soaked crowbar. “Your brother, yeah?”

  “Leave him alone!” I bark, adrenaline coursing, fists clenched tightly. “You bastards!”

  “You can’t keep them as pets, love,” the one wearing a red beanie hat says. “They’ve got to be put down.” With thick, muscular arms, he smashes his metal pipe into Ben’s ribs, and I hear that horrific shriek again. “Like an old dog.”

  In a blind frenzy, I charge across the rain-soaked lane towards him, but then I’m stopped dead in my tracks as a baseball bat collides with my stomach. The pain slices through my body and I land, side-on, in a shallow puddle, winded, battling silently for air. Ben is almost at arm’s length from me. With half-shut eyes, he reaches for my hand. I try to stand, but I’m pushed down again by someone’s heavy boot.

  “Sweetheart—your brother is a killer,” the tall, fat one says, his tone cold, like he’s about to put a bullet through my skull, “and he has to be punished.”

  “He’s not a killer,” I struggle to say as oxygen starts to fill my lungs. “He’s just a boy.”

  A heartless snigger emanates from the men.

  “Just a boy?” He drives his foot into Ben’s stomach, but this time Ben doesn’t make a sound, just closes his eyes. “Blue bastards like your brother killed my wife. You really think we’d let monsters take over our neighbourhood?”

  “Stop it!” I reach for Ben’s limp fingers. “Just let us go. Please. He’s not dangerous.”

  A bald man with a flattened boxer’s nose kneels down in front of me. The side of his hairy neck is cut, rain and blood running down onto his grey coat. “He looked pretty fucking dangerous when he tried to rip my throat out.” He pulls out a shiny hunting knife from his pocket, holds it up to my neck, and grins with yellow, cracked teeth. “How about I slice your pretty little throat? See how dangerous you think I am?”

  I wince in terror as he drags the ice-cold blade across my skin. I think about begging for mercy, but I doubt these pricks have an ounce.

  He moves the knife from my neck, up to my cheek. I close my eyes when I feel it right below my eyelid. Breathing erratic, chest pounding, I slowly move my face away from the knife, but it follows me like a magnet.

  “Just do it, Stu,” a voice says. “She ain’t worth saving.”

  “Please, don’t,” I plead, tears streaming. “I’m just a kid.”

  “It’s too late, sweetheart. You crossed the line when you shacked up with this monster.”

  An electric jolt of pain hits my scalp as he grabs my hair, forcing the back of my head to the ground. I squirm, but then freeze when he hovers the blade over my eye.

  Is he bluffing? Do I risk grabbing the handle and wrestling the knife from him?

  The crowbar slams onto Ben’s chest.

  Then another strike from the baseball bat.

  “No! You’re gonna kill him!”

  The red beanie hat man lifts up his metal pipe above his head, about to take his turn, to finish Ben off completely. He glances over at me, sick pleasure coursing through those vengeful, narrow eyes. “Stinking vamps!” He spits out his words.

  “No!” I close my eyes in torment, unable to bear the dreadful sight.

  In the darkness, waiting to wake from this hellish dream, a monstrous roar of an engine fills my ears. I open my eyes, blinded by the bright lights of a blue van. Its brakes screech, bringing the vehicle to a halt right in front of us. A stocky redheaded man, late-twenties, wearing a thick brown jacket steps out of the driver’s side. Then a slim blonde woman, around the same age, dressed in jeans and a long blue coat, steps out of the passenger’s side.

  They have a shotgun each.

  “Get away from the girl!” the woman barks, pointing her weapon at the knife-man. “Unless you want your tiny brain sprayed over the walls!”

  Still with my hair in his grasp, he snorts. “You two a couple of vampire lovers as well?”

  “I won’t tell you again,” she steps a little closer, “get away from the girl. Now!”

  “She’s harbouring a vampire,” one of the other men says, his baseball bat shaking in his grip. “We can’t have shit like that in our town.”

  The redheaded man points his shotgun in the air. I recoil in fright when a deafening bang leaves the weapon. Startled, the knife-man quickly releases my hair and scurries away from me, dropping the blade at the same time.

  “Get in the van!” the woman demands, still with her gun pointed at the mob. “Use the back doors!”

  Without a second thought, I crawl over to Ben, hook his arm over my shoulder, and lift him to his feet. Semi-conscious, he manages to hold most of his weight as we slalom past the men. I open the doors and climb in, pulling Ben with me. He cries out in agony as his broken leg hits the metal floor. The couple scramble into the front seats, and the man reverses the van back the way it came.

  I don’t say a word as we escape the drenched lane and reach the main road. I’m too shell shocked, too happy to be getting as far away from those lunatics as possible. Within a minute, I see our flat through the windscreen. But then we pass it. “That’s my stop,” I say, moving to the front, a hand on each headrest.

  “It’s too dangerous to go back there,” the man says. “Those pricks may seem like a pile of brainless hillbillies, but they will find you. Sooner or later. Newton Port is a small town. And every one of those animals is most likely a local, born and bred. And there’s a damn good chance that they’ve eaten at your kebab shop.”

  “How do you know where I work?” I ask, unsettled; scared that I might have put myself in further danger.

  The woman turns to me, her weathered face damp from the rain, her blonde hair in a thick plait. “We’ve been watching you, Jodie.”

  “Watching me? Why?”

  “Because it’s our job to keep an eye on domesticated vampires.”

  My muscles stiffen and my stomach begins to twist with nerves. I shouldn’t have got in to this van. I should have run when I had the chance.

  “You don’t trust us?” the man asks. Only now do I notice how fr
eckled and pasty his face is.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about, love,” the man points out, clearly spotting my reluctance to give up any information. “If we wanted you and your brother dead, then we would have done it weeks ago.”

  “Then where are you taking us?”

  “To a safe haven,” the woman cuts in. “The farm.” We turn off to join the dark, deserted motorway. “We’re taking you to meet Maggie.”

  8

  I’ve lost track of where we are. I thought we were still in Newton Port, but I don’t recognise these streets.

  I’m still unsure how trustworthy these people are, but it’s not like I have an endless supply of options. After all, the woman is right—those men would have found me eventually, especially with me working the late-shift at the kebab shop. Hell, they probably know Hakesh. Everyone else does.

  Like always, Ben’s wounds have already completely healed—apart from one: his broken leg. I’m not sure why. Maybe there’s too much damage to the bone. It’s not like there’s a book on vampire anatomy and the miracles of rapid healing. I’m trying not to panic, trying to stay calm, but it’s upsetting to see him in so much pain.

  There’s a rumble of gravel under the tyres as the van comes to a stop. Confused, I glance through the windscreen to see where we are. The woman climbs out of the van. Are we at the farm already?

  The back doors squeak open and Ben sits up in defence, even though he can barely keep his eyes open.

  “We’re gonna have to fix your brother’s leg,” the woman says, leaning into the back.

  “There’s no need. He can heal. It’s just taking a little longer, that’s all.”

  “I know he can heal, Jodie, but the bone needs to be set first otherwise he’ll have permanent problems with his leg.”

  “Are you sure? Everything usually fixes itself.”

  “He’s not a wizard. The broken bone won’t magically line up with the other half. It doesn’t work that way.” She climbs up into the back of the van. “I’ve done this before.”

  My face hardens with revulsion. “Are you talking about pushing the bone back into place?”

  “Of course I am. It’s exactly like the movies. It’ll be quick. One crack and we’re done.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t do that. He’s wide-awake. He’ll feel it.”

  She snorts impatiently. “What’s the alternative? Send him to the hospital? I’m sure the NHS would be more than happy to pay for his treatment.”

  I look at Ben’s face. There’s sweat running down from his forehead. I’ve never seen him in so much pain. Is she right? Maybe it won’t heal.

  There you go again, Freya—trusting a complete stranger.

  Ben tries to move his leg, his face creasing with torture. Does he know what we’re talking about?

  “How quick can you do it?” I ask in defeat, coming ‘round to the barbaric idea.

  “A second or two.”

  I glance as his weeping eyes, and then sigh in desperation. “Okay. Do it.”

  “Good girl. But make sure he doesn’t try to tear my throat out in retaliation.”

  Even though I can’t promise he won’t, I give her a reassuring nod.

  Ben snarls as the woman approaches him. “She’s a friend. She’s not going to hurt you. She just wants to help.” My words do nothing to calm him, so I grab the sides of his head and turn him to face me. “Remember the pine trees at Solace Park? Remember how much fun you had climbing them? That’s the first time Mum and me saw how strong you were. How fast you could run. Mum was so scared when you ran off that day. I think she thought you might never come back. But you did. Because you loved her so much. I know she was far from perfect, but she loved you, too. And I know—”

  My words are cut short when I hear the loud, gut-wrenching crunch. Ben shrieks, squeezing my hand almost to breaking point, his body flailing like he’s being electrocuted. I wrap my arms around his chest to restrain him, but he’s too strong, too feral. The woman scrambles out of the van and slams the doors. Ben’s limbs finally soften and his eyes start to close. “It’s all right. Just sleep. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  The dark van begins to lighten as the morning sun slithers through the window. There’s a blanket in the corner. I grab it and pull it over his entire body. “You’ll be fine in a few hours.”

  I wipe the tears from my tired eyes, and rest my sore head against the side of the van. “Thank you,” I say, my eyelids heavy, my voice barely a whisper.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” she replies as the van starts moving again. “I don’t like to see people suffer.”

  She’s the first person I’ve met to refer to Ben as ‘People.’ “I don’t even know your names.”

  She twists around in her seat. “It’s Katrina. And this ugly-mug is Wesley.”

  He glances at me with a grin; his teeth a little yellow, a large gap at the centre. “The long-suffering husband.”

  I can’t drop this iron guard I have when I meet anyone new. All I can do is cross my fingers and hope to God that they’re good, honest people.

  “You look exhausted,” Katrina points out. “Why don’t you get some sleep? It’s a couple more hours before we get to the farm.”

  “Okay.” I nod, and then curl up next to Ben, pulling a little of his blanket over me.

  I shut my eyes, and the drowsiness takes me far away.

  9

  I smell the pine trees again.

  God, I’ve missed this. Feel like it’s been forever since I was here last. It’s a damn shame the council closed down the park. I always thought it would have been a great place for my future children to play in.

  My heavy arms are aching. How much further is it? We should be there by now.

  I look over my shoulder and see Mum struggle to carry his legs. I knew he was a fat prick, but this is like lifting steel.

  We push through a gap in the bushes and reach the picnic area. Somehow the woods in front look even thicker than I can remember. Scarier even, like something awful is looking at us, through the trees, calling out to us. Mum doesn’t seem frightened at all, just exhausted. “Almost there, Mum. Just a few more metres.”

  The brambles pluck at my jacket as we move into the woods. The thorns seem sharper, almost like vampire fangs, cutting through the fabric. “You okay, Mum?”

  She nods, but I don’t believe her for a second.

  We drop the body on the ground and my arms suddenly feel like feathers, drifting up into space. Mum groans with relief, leaning against a tree, clearly struggling to catch her breath.

  I pull out the torch from my jacket and shine it onto the mine-shaft entrance. The planks of wood have gone, revealing an unnerving hole, leading into an abyss of darkness. “You ready, Mum?” I ask her as she stares down at Tony’s body. “Any last words?”

  With a face of disgust, Mum shakes her head. “No.”

  On my knees, I start to roll him towards the black hole. “Goodbye you piece of trash. This is where you belong.”

  Just at the edge, moments before momentum pushes him over, Tony’s eyes spring open. They’re grey and lifeless, like his skin. “It’s you, Freya,” he drones through rotting vocal cords.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re the only monster.”

  “Shut up!” I snap as his body disappears down the hole. “You got what you deserve.” I turn to Mum. “Isn’t that right?”

  My stomach churns when I see Mum lying on the ground, blood seeping from her chest. “No!” I scream, crawling over to her. “Don’t leave me again!”

  “Listen to me, Freya,” she mumbles as blood runs from her mouth. “My name isn’t Jane Lawson. It’s Nia Stone.”

  “Don’t say that, Mum. Michael’s a liar. He’s just trying to break you.”

  Her eyes begin to close. “Michael is—”

  “Michael’s what? Michael’s what?”

  I shudder because Michael is
standing in front of me, pointing a gun at my head. “You bastard!” I scream. “You killed my mother!”

  He puts the gun back into its holster, and says, “We’re here, Freya.”

  “Go to hell!” The ground beneath me shudders, and I lose my footing. I try to steady myself, but it happens again. An earthquake?

  Light seeps through my eyelids as another bump shunts me back to reality.

  “Nightmare?” Katrina asks from the front of the van.

  I rub my eyes, shake off the lethargy, and then crawl up to the seats. Through the windscreen, I see that the sun is out and we’re on a narrow country lane. The tarmac below us is broken and uneven, causing the van to bounce up and down like a Bucking Bronco, and scrape against the thick bushes on each side. “Where are we?” I clear my dry throat with a sharp cough.

  Katrina beams. “Home.”

  We arrive at a farm-gate, and my mind begins to race with worry. What the hell is this place? On each side of the gate, there’s a high wooden fence, which seems to stretch for miles. And at the top of the fence, there are thick, wooden spikes wrapped in barbed wire. Is this a prison? Just beyond the gate, there’s a tall wooden structure. From here, it looks like a watchtower. There’s a man standing on top, wearing a black bomber jacket, and pointing a shotgun at the van.

  “Don’t worry about our security,” Katrina says. “It’s just there to keep out any unwanted guests.”

  “Like who?”

  “HCA, for one. But we don’t get those here very often. Our main concern is keeping the purebred blues out. Domesticated half-breeds like your brother are always welcome here. But blues without a guardian are too hard to control. Too dangerous. And there’re children at the farm to think about.”

  “Children?” I ask, my nerves settling a little.

  “Oh, yes.” Katrina smiles. “You’ll see.”

  Climbing down from the watchtower, the man opens the gate and waves us through.

  The van judders along a thick, lumpy field, filled with perhaps forty to fifty caravans. Through Wesley’s half-open window, the sound of children playing seeps in. It’s a sound that I’d almost forgotten.